


"Climax" by Gaspar Noé

by Coq



Category: RedLetterMedia RPF
Genre: Canon-typical Alcohol Consumption, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Lightning Fast verse, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-10
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:39:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27990120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coq/pseuds/Coq
Summary: Mike and Jay like to wind down on Friday afternoons by watching movies in the back of the VCR repair shop. When Jay picks a weird artsy French movie, things escalate.
Relationships: Mike/Jay
Comments: 6
Kudos: 32





	"Climax" by Gaspar Noé

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnnInymouse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnInymouse/gifts).



> This is technically based on the Lightning Fast VCR repair shop verse only, although I'm kinda sorta pretty sure something like this has happened in real life too. Good for you, boys. Good for you.
> 
> No need for any content warnings, this little fic is soft as fuck and only nice things happen in it. Please enjoy.

"Okay, so, what fucked up bullshit are you gonna make me watch today?" 

It was Friday afternoon, and the clock had just rolled over to 3:30 PM. Every week, Mike and Jay started watching a movie near the end of the day on Friday, and once the movie ended, they'd close up the shop and head to the bar down the street.

"I want to watch this new movie by Gaspar Noé," Jay said as Mike propped open the door to the back room, so they could hear any customers that came in, even though they rarely got customers this late in the day, and almost never on Friday.

"Casper? This movie better have ghosts in it," Mike said, kicking the doorstop into place.

"No, Gaspar, with a G, like...I think he's Argetinian." Jay picked up the remote and began navigating to Amazon Prime, which Jay's sister shared with him and reluctantly allowed Mike to piggy-back off of.

"You know I don't give a shit about artsy European movies," Mike said.

Jay laughed, although Mike wasn't sure why. While Jay pulled up the movie, Mike went into the kitchenette to pick up some beers (the strong Double Bastard ale shit for him, and a fresh-looking bubbly light beer for Jay), and when he came back, the movie was paused on a white background. He flopped down onto the loveseat next to Jay and held out his beer for him.

"This movie is supposed to be crazy," Jay said as he took the beer from Mike's hand, his pinky brushing against Mike's index finger almost imperceptibly.

Jay unpaused it, and immediately there was a screaming girl stumbling through the snow. It looked like she was bleeding, too, and Mike instantly knew why Jay had chosen it. "Oh, it's one of these," Mike muttered.

"It's art," Jay said, rolling his eyes as he took a sip of his beer.

After the screaming girl stopped screaming (was she dead? jesus, what a way to start a movie), Mike sat through a bunch of boring French people talking about what dance meant to them, or some stupid shit like that. He managed to refrain from making further comments by finishing off his beer by the time the interviews were over. "I'm gonna get another one," he said.

"Hurry back," Jay said, staring at the screen. "I think it's about to get good."

I doubt that very much, Mike thought.

He returned with two more beers for himself, and one more for Jay, who had always been more of a lightweight, probably owing to the hundred-plus pound weight difference between them.

"See, look! It's already getting good," Jay said, pointing at the screen.

The French people from the interviews were doing a very complicated synchronized dance. It didn't look anything like any dancing Mike had seen back when he used to go to clubs, or like the Nutcracker ballet his grandmother had taken him to when he was a kid. 

"They look like they're on drugs," Mike said, kicking his feet up onto the battered old coffee table that they'd picked up from the side of the road after work a few months ago.

"I think they're doing modern dance," Jay said. "The drugs come later."

Mike nearly choked on his beer. "Wait, what?"

But Jay was already enraptured by the flailing young French people. Mike tried to check his watch as surreptitiously as he could, and the synchronized dance lasted six fucking minutes, by which he was already through his second beer. A good buzz would make this artistic bullshit more tolerable.

It was another half an hour before anything even a little interesting started happening. Mike wasn't entirely sure that he didn't fall asleep during the half hour of conversation between the French people, but if he did, he must not have snored, because Jay didn't seem to notice either way.

But even the interesting stuff was just more dancing, although it was dancing in the form of erotic writhing. Finally, after an utterly inexplicable mid-film credits sequence, things started finally getting strange.

"Oh, they're on acid, aren't they?" Mike muttered.

"How did you know?" Jay asked, sounding legitimately surprised. 

"The change in the camera motions, like. It's all tight and shaky-cam, it's obviously meant to make it clear that they're under some sort of drug effects," Mike said. "I guess I didn't know it was acid, but."

"It's definitely acid," Jay said. He looked as impressed as if Mike had just recited the David Lynch filmography from memory.

The movie just got stranger from there, with a lot of anxiety-inducing yelling and screaming, more than Mike would have preferred. Honestly, the whole film was starting to freak Mike out a little bit, so he gave himself permission to check out, and think about other stuff. There was no reason to ruin Jay’s enjoyment of this artsy bullshit when he sat through Mike’s sci-fi nonsense all the time (although the sci-fi nonsense was objectively better).

He watched the second hand on his watch for a minute or two, finished his third beer while mentally recounting an episode of Star Trek, and then he chanced a look at Jay.  
Jay was clearly enchanted by this weird fucking movie. His eyes were glued to the screen, and he was alternating between leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, and reclining against the back of the loveseat, looking deep in thought.

Then Mike noticed it.

Jay was hard.

It wasn’t especially noticeable, since it didn't look like Jay was particularly well-endowed, but there was definitely a peak in the center of Jay's lap, a small tenting of his jeans that definitely hadn't been there the last time Mike had looked over at him.

He didn't even seem to notice Mike’s stare, since he wasn’t crossing his legs, or acting embarrassed at all. He even leaned back, into the corner between the back cushion and the armrest, tilting his hips toward Mike's stare.

Or, perhaps, Jay was noticing his own erection, and possibly noticing Mike's noticing, too, because his cheeks were ruddy red in the dim twilight of the late autumn afternoon. He was still studiously keeping his eyes on the movie screen, but.

It was probably a combination of the three strong beers (were the Double Bastard ales 11% alcohol?) that he'd had in the span of 45 minutes, and the influence of the weird garbage on the screen, but Mike was suddenly feeling like the smartest thing he could possibly do right now would be to reach over and touch him. His fingers were itching for it already, and he leaned forward under the pretense of putting his empty beer bottle on the coffee table, but when he leaned back, he let his hand fall casually onto the loveseat cushions. It was a small couch, and his hand was just an inch away from Jay's denim-covered thigh.

Some girl on the screen was having an extended screaming freak-out session, but Mike couldn't possibly have cared less, because Jay shifted his leg just slightly, enough to bump his knee against Mike's hand. But instead of jerking it away like he normally would have, perhaps with a blushing and stammered apology, he left his knee there, just. Just right up against Mike's pinky finger. 

Jay was continuing to stare at the screen like nothing was happening. Meanwhile, Mike felt like every molecule in his hand was bursting into flames. Jay's knee was so warm, even through his jeans. Mike was drunk enough to wonder if the rest of him felt that warm, too, but miraculously not drunk enough to ask him, or leer at him, or make a joke to ruin the moment.

The moment was perfect, actually, and another one might never come again. So, he decided to go for it.

In what felt like a glacially slow motion (ironic, considering the insane pace of the twirling and screaming dancers on the TV screen), Mike slid his pinky up onto Jay's knee. When Jay didn't react at all, he added his ring finger, and then his middle finger, too. 

Jay was frozen in place, still staring at the television, but through the corner of his eye, Mike could see that his whole face was flushed, and it was starting to creep down his neck in patchy splotches. As Mike settled his whole hand on the top of Jay's knee, he heard Jay let out a breath through his nose, a harsh hiss that made it sound like he'd been holding his breath until right then.

It was followed by a shuddery inhale that Mike could feel and hear as he brushed his thumb along the inside of Jay's knee. He wanted so desperately to ask Jay if this was okay, if he really wanted this, if he wanted it as badly as Mike was realizing that maybe he always had wanted it himself. But Jay was like a delicate baby fawn, and he had to be very careful not to spook him, or he'd disappear into the forest and Mike would never see him again. The fact that Jay was spreading his legs wider for Mike's touch would have to be consent enough.

The screaming on the TV screen was starting to get annoying, but Mike didn't feel like it would be safe to turn it down, or do anything that might draw Jay's latent uncertainty to the surface. He tried to ignore it, which was easier than it might have been if his own heart hadn't been pounding so loudly in his ears, thudding and pulsing blood into his face, and also some other parts of his body. Well, he had nothing to be ashamed of in that area, so if Jay happened to look over and see his monster cock, hopefully he wouldn't flee in terror. Maybe he'd get lucky and Jay would be a size queen. It wasn't the first time Mike had entertained similar thoughts.

Really, the most surprising thing about this was that it had taken this long, Mike mused as he moved his hand up along Jay's thigh, coming to another rest about halfway to the bulge in Jay's lap, which had grown a little bit, but was still pretty small, Mike was pleased to see. It was probably the perfect little size, and he was suddenly, absolutely, completely desperate to see it. Maybe the whole thing would fit inside Mike's palm.

He saw Jay's gaze flicker between the TV screen and Mike's hand, like he couldn't bear to stop looking at either one. Mike wanted to offer to pause the movie, but he knew better than to speak a word, because it would break whatever spell they were both under, the magic of the late afternoon twilight and the insanity of some French motherfucker to whom, apparently, Mike would have to write a goddamn thank you note. 

Jay's eyes locked onto Mike's hand, though, when he bumped the heel of his palm against Jay's bulging zipper.

How many times had they gotten wasted together? How many shitty horror movies had they watched together with, sadly, zero handjobs? Mike dared to hope that maybe they were about to make up for lost time.

He could feel Jay quivering under his hand. Whether it was in nervousness, excitement, or both, Mike couldn't know. He wanted so much to softly shush Jay, to calm him, to pull him into his arms and hold him until he stopped shaking, but it wasn't time for that yet. Maybe soon.

Mike felt Jay's cock twitch inside his jeans at this near-touch. Okay, so it was definitely at full size, if it was twitching hard like that, Mike thought as he brushed the back of his hand over it, so light that it could have been an accident, if Mike's whole hand wasn't positioned solidly in Jay's lap now. He wasn't going to be able to excuse this with anything other than drunkenness, but Jay knew he could hold a lot more than three beers before he got properly trashed, so that left him with no excuse whatsoever. But maybe he wouldn't need one.

As he kept up his barely-there touch, Mike chanced a glance up to Jay's face. His perfectly straight nose was still pointed at the TV screen, but his gaze was lowered to Mike's hand, and his pink lips were parted slightly. If the sound of the movie was turned down a little bit, Mike would probably be able to hear him breathing. His chest was visibly rising and falling. Mike could see the shape of it through his tan uniform shirt because he was breathing so heavily.

It's okay, Mike wanted to say. I feel it too. This is it. There's no turning back. I'm ready. We're ready. We've waited long enough.

He didn't say anything, though, and instead, he turned his hand over, so that his palm was resting against Jay's erection now. It was even warmer than his leg had been, hotter than the fire that was raging inside Mike's chest, the combustion that Jay had started when he had first spread his legs and shifted his hips toward Mike on the tiny, stained courdoroy loveseat.

Jay exhaled hard, breathing out like he was an Olympic archer getting ready to shoot a gold medal winning bullseye who was trying to steady his hands, which were currently balled up into tight little fists at his sides. Mike wanted so badly, suddenly, to know what his tiny hands felt like inside of his. In some way, he wished that he had taken Jay's hand years ago, maybe at a movie theater or over a beer at a bar, so that they could have done this so much sooner. He would know already what Jay's lips tasted like, what his cock tasted like, what his come tasted like. Mike had a feeling that it would be a sweet and salty mixture, like kettle corn. He loved kettle corn. It was also possible that he loved Jay, maybe.

Jay's eyes fluttered closed as Mike palmed the shape of him beneath his jeans. He might have moaned--Mike wouldn't have heard it over the racket of the film, but he felt a soft little vibration beneath his hand, and Mike took that as encouragement. He pressed a little harder, enough for Jay to feel it, and was rewarded with a little buck of Jay's hips, the tiniest little twitch up into his palm. 

He couldn't be more than five inches, maybe a little less. The hard length of him ran from the base of Mike's index finger to the base of his pinky, exactly right to enclose his whole cock inside of his big palm. He'd never been happier to have huge hands. Or, he supposed, hands that were the exact right size.

The shape of him was barely perceptible underneath his pants. Mike could just barely make out the delineation between the shaft and the head, a small ridge bumping up against his pinky. He experimentally pressed down on that ridge, suspecting that Jay's frenulum was beneath it, and Jay jolted. It must have been the right spot. Mike tried to suppress his grin, but it mutated into a satisfied smirk instead.

His wrist was beginning to ache a little bit from the awkward angle, but he didn't dare to pull his hand away, or switch hands, or do anything that would draw Jay's attention to the weirdness of the situation. Mike just resolved to take an Advil when he got home, and rest his hand for the evening, because no amount of pain would be able to pull his hand away from Jay's body, or pull him away from Jay.

Suddenly, the bells on the front door clattered, ringing loud enough to make Mike and Jay both jump apart, away from each other. Mike felt all the blood rush from his dick to his face, which suddenly felt like it was on fire. 

"Hello?" a female voice called out. "Is anyone here?"

"Fuck," Mike muttered, furious. "Be right there," he shouted, trying not to sound as angry as he felt. 

Jay looked like a deer caught in the headlights, frozen in place and staring at Mike with wide eyes as though he had never helped a customer before and no idea what to do.

"I'll take care of it," Mike mumbled to Jay. He pinched his own thigh as hard as he could, which did the job of withering his dick down to a manageable size that wouldn't get him fired for sexually harassing a customer. "Pause the movie, I guess. If only because of all the screaming."

"Yeah," Jay croaked, leaning forward to grab the remote.

The interloper turned out to be a pleasant middle-aged lady whose VCR was having tracking problems. It would be an easy fix, and Mike could have done it in twenty minutes, but he'd sooner crush the machine with a hammer than let it delay his return to Jay. He told her he could have it finished for her by Monday afternoon, and she seemed perfectly satisfied with that timetable, so Mike counted it as a win when she left. It was tempting to lock the door behind her, but they were still technically open for another half hour, so he begrudgingly left it open, although any more customers who came through the door would receive the full brunt of his rage.  
He dropped the lady's VCR into the work room, then walked through the doorway back into the break room.

Jay was still sitting on the couch, thank fuck. He hadn't gotten up to run away screaming, and he wasn't yelling at Mike for breaking his boundaries, or whatever. He was just fiddling around on his phone like nothing had happened. Well, that was better than most of the alternatives, Mike reasoned, although he had to admit to himself that he was slightly disappointed that Jay hadn't stripped naked and bent himself over the arm of the couch while shouting, "Take me now, you big bear stud" or something similar from one of the fantasies that Mike may or may not have entertained late at night.

"You want another beer?" Mike asked, instead of asking, are we together now? Can I fuck you? Do you love me? 

"Yeah," Jay said. He sounded relieved, like maybe he had been expecting Mike to say something else.

They were all out of the light beers Jay had been preferring to drink lately. All they had left were Mike's strong beers. He grabbed two of them, and two bottles of water, in case Jay decided that he wanted to sober up a little bit instead of getting trashed with Mike.

"Sorry," Mike said as he handed a Double Bastard to Jay. "This was all we had left."

Jay winced as he took the bottle. "Well. If I don't finish it, I guess that's just more for you."

Mike set the water bottles down on the beat-up coffee table in front of them, then sank back down into the squashy cushions of the loveseat. "You can unpause now, if you want."

The movie had taken a weird(er) turn, with a power outage onscreen and a pervasive red light that was flooding the whole break room with its intensity. The late November sun had gone down, and it was getting dark, but it was still light enough for Mike to see Jay's face as he studiously fixed his gaze on the screen.

Then Mike noticed it. 

Jay's pants were unbuttoned.

The hem of his work shirt was pulled up just high enough to show that his pants were undone, but not so high as to be too obvious. Jay had clearly carefully arranged all of this while Mike was in the front room with the customer. He was still hard, too, tenting up his boxers, which looked purple in the red light of the screen, although Mike couldn't be sure what color they really were. He really, really wanted to know, though.

He couldn't just go diving back in, though, right? He had to be cool about it. Subtle. Calm.

Mike drank a third of his beer in one long chug. He needed that liquid courage, as soon as he could get it, and soon he was below half of the bottle left as he leaned forward to set it back on the coffee table.

Through the corner of his eye, he could see that Jay was fidgeting, shifting around like he was trying to get comfortable. He wedged himself into the corner of the loveseat, between the cushion and the armrest, and tilted his hips toward Mike, showing off his underwear-clad little hard-on peeking out from beneath his work shirt, making Mike's hand ache for it.

Jay whispered something, barely audible over the din of the movie, which seemed like it would never quiet down.

"What?" Mike said.

Jay looked at the floor, clearly embarrassed, but he had the look on his face that he got whenever he was steeling himself for something--a confrontation with a customer, or telling Mike off, usually. 

"I said...please." He took a deep breath, then blurted it out loudly enough that Mike could hear it over the film. "I'm gonna fucking die if you don't. Please."

Oh, god. Oh, fuck. Jay wanted it. As bad as Mike wanted it, or maybe more, if that was even possible. It didn't seem possible.

"Yeah," Mike breathed. "Okay. I want to." He turned towards Jay, suddenly feeling like a high school kid, not suave or cool at all, just desperate to touch him, anywhere, as he reached out for him with a shaking hand. “C’mere.”

It was like Jay had been waiting for Mike to give him permission to move. He launched himself out of the corner of the loveseat and into Mike's open arms.

Jay was so small, so much smaller than he looked, as Mike pulled him close. Their knees were separating them from this awkward angle, but Jay's little chest was pressing into Mike's, and it felt like the first time Mike had ever been hugged in his entire life. He buried his face in Jay's hair, trying to swallow the strange lump in his throat that was suddenly threatening to ruin his facade of coolness, making the corners of his eyes prick with stinging heat as he breathed in Jay's scent for the first time.

Mike swallowed down every profession of love that leapt into his mouth, every phrase of undying devotion that was desperate to claw its way from his tongue to Jay's unprepared ears. The way Mike could feel Jay's ribs underneath his hands, even through his shirt, was driving him fucking crazy already. He felt so small as he breathed humid heat onto Mike's neck, burying his face into the softest part of Mike's shoulder like he'd always known exactly where he'd nuzzle first.

From this angle, Mike couldn't reach Jay's dick, but he was fine with that, because he was too busy doing things like brushing his nose across the place where Jay's hair met his skin, where it smelled the most strongly of something dark and foresty that he didn't have a name for yet, but was probably Jay's shampoo or hair stuff, and also like sweat and work and beer and Jay's apartment and a hint of VCR lubricant. Immediately, he knew this was his new favorite smell, and he inhaled deeply, unable to resist brushing his lips against Jay's forehead in a kiss that he could pretend wasn't a kiss if he got sass from Jay about it.

But Jay didn't seem like he was in any shape to be handing out his classic sass to anyone, let alone to Mike. He was clutching at the sides of Mike's upper arms, holding tightly like he was afraid Mike would physically push him away, and the only chance he'd have to not fall would be to squeeze onto Mike's big arms. His clinging made Mike wonder distractedly if Jay would let himself be carried around by Mike, maybe for romantic purposes. 

Jay was shivering, too, and although it was chilly in the back room, Mike didn't think that was the reason for his quivering. He didn't want to ask whether Jay had done this kind of thing before, and he didn't need to; it was obvious that he hadn't, or at least not with...well, not with someone like Mike, anyway.

Mike had, but it felt like he hadn't, because it had never been with Jay before. It was like none of his prior experiences were even of the same sort of activity. He'd certainly never felt like this, this feeling of wanting to immediately consume Jay, bring him in too close and make him part of his whole, to never even be able to let him go, unable to be separated into discrete beings ever again, like a transporter accident gone exactly right.

"I need you," he whispered into Jay's hair, which he realized too late was a fucking buckwild thing to say to his best friend/coworker/possible soulmate that he hadn't even kissed yet.

Jay didn't say words in response, but instead he nodded and moaned a little, folding himself to rub his face against Mike's chest like he was intoxicated by its presence, even through his uniform shirt. He mumbled something, but it was muffled by Mike's soft pecs, which rumbled pleasantly when Jay spoke into them.

"What?" he mumbled into Jay's hair.

Jay turned his deep red face to the side, taking a shaky breath. "The feeling is mutual. Nuh-needing you, I mean. It's mutual," he stammered.

"I actually don't even know how long I've been waiting to hear you say that," Mike said.

"Then we're even." Jay sat up and reached for the top button on Mike's polyester uniform shirt. "Because I don't know how long I've been waiting to say it."

Mike was torn between wanting to let Jay undress him from head to toe like a fat Ken doll, and wanting to slow things down and savor it as much as possible, and take things nice and slow, ideally without some French people on an acid trip still fucking yelling in the background. Caution won out, and he grabbed Jay's hand from his button and brought it up to his mouth. "We should probably wait until we lock the front door," he said, definitely not because he was suddenly nervous about getting everything absolutely perfect.

"Fuck, you're right," Jay muttered, but his eyes were glittering as he watched Mike hold his hand.

The skin on the back of Jay's hand was smooth against Mike's lips, in contrast with the calluses on his palm. He brushed his lips over Jay's knuckles in a ghost of a kiss.  
Jay looked transfixed. His breath was coming heavily again through his parted lips, and Mike could smell the beer on it. 

"How drunk are you?" Mike asked.

Jay scoffed. "Barely at all. I know you think I'm a lightweight, but it takes more than two light beers to get me drunk. Haven’t even had any of your nasty IPA."

"Okay. Good." Mike turned his face to rub his nose and cheek against Jay's knuckles, enjoying the sandpaper sound of his stubble scratching against the tops of Jay's fingers. "I don't want this to be a mistake," he mumbled into Jay's hand, unable to look at him when he said it. It was too cringey, but it was true. He would lay down and die if Jay woke up regretful tomorrow.

"It doesn't feel like a mistake," Jay whispered. He was leaning in closer towards Mike, lowering his hand with Mike's, staring at him with those dark forest eyes as if he was challenging him, daring Mike to back down. But then Jay's eyes fluttered closed, and Mike's followed a second later, and suddenly they were kissing, right there on the loveseat in the break room of Lightning Fast VCR Repair while some stupid French film played in the background.

Jay's beard prickled pleasantly against Mike's stubble-covered skin, in contrast with the pillowy softness of his impossibly pink lips. He didn't want to offer too much too fast, because for all he knew, this was Jay's first fucking kiss, so he didn't need to cram his tongue into his mouth immediately. Instead, the kiss stayed chaste and sweet.  
When Jay pulled back to breathe, he looked dazed, eyelids heavy and lips parted. He didn't say anything, which was just as well, because Mike felt certain that anything he himself said in response wouldn't fit the gravity of the moment. Instead, he went in for another kiss.

It was Jay who introduced his soft little tongue to the situation, in tiny kitten licks at Mike's lips. When Mike touched his tongue to Jay's, Jay moaned into his mouth, sounding like a wanton slut already just for the taste of beer on Mike's tongue. Jay tasted like beer too, a wheaty taste instead of the bitter hops flavor in the beer he'd been drinking. The taste of Jay's kiss was refreshing somehow, like a sip of cool water after a lifetime lost in the desert.

I love you, Mike didn't say when they pulled apart so Jay could breathe again after a few moments. He was panting, breathless with shining eyes--clearly overcome by some sort of emotion, whether just plain sex pervert lust or something more akin to this complex sort of thing that Mike was feeling. "Breathe through your nose next time," Mike murmured.

Jay scoffed, like that had been obvious to him. But Mike could feel that he'd been holding his breath while they kissed, and Jay half-smiled at the dirty linoleum floor, cheeks bright pink. "Yeah."

The clock on the wall said that it was 4:50.

"Fuck it, it's close enough to five o'clock," Mike said. He stood up. "Stay right here. Don't go anywhere."

"Where would I go?" Jay was reaching for the TV remote as Mike left the room to go lock the front door and pull the metal grates over their windows.

When he came back into the break room a minute later, Jay had turned the movie off, and had pulled up a video on YouTube instead. Mike recognized it as being some of that synthwave stuff that Jay was always listening to, when he was working on VCRs and sometimes when they were driving to and from work together, when they carpooled. It wasn't Mike's favorite genre, but he liked it well enough, especially since Jay seemed to enjoy it so much.

"Is this okay?" Jay asked sheepishly. "I just--I want to pay attention to the ending of the movie, and I haven't been paying super close attention to it for the past... like... forty-five minutes."

Mike chuckled as he sat down on the loveseat next to Jay, sinking into the dark courdoroy cushions. "I haven't been paying attention at all, honestly."

"Oh, no?" Jay was smirking as he leaned in towards Mike. "How come?"

"Who can say?" Mike set one hand on Jay's waist. "Maybe I just don't like French people."

He tugged at Jay's waist, trying to magically will him onto his lap without having to specifically ask for it. Jay looked down at his hand, eyebrows quirked in confusion. 

"Come here," Mike said, and patted his thigh with his free hand.

"You want me to sit on your lap?" Jay's incredulity was clear in his voice.

Of course, Jay being a likely virgin dork, he wouldn't know about the glories of lap-sitting, which in Mike's opinion was simply the best activity Jay could do with him while they were both still fully clothed. "Just trust me."

"Okay..." Jay was clearly still skeptical as he climbed over onto Mike's lap, slinging his knee over Mike's legs and coming to rest his cute little ass on Mike's thighs. He still had his boxers on, but his pants had come to rest partway down his thighs.

"There you go." This exact moment had been the source of so many of Mike's late-night fantasies, the kind he'd have when he was drunk alone in his shitty apartment and wishing for something better for both of them. He rested both of his hands on Jay's bony hips, feeling them beneath his pants with his thumb.

Jay was looking down at him like he was both terrified and thrilled, as though Mike was a roller coaster he was thinking about riding, and he'd just gotten to the front of the line, and it was time to decide whether to go through with it. He wasn't hard anymore, but Mike had a feeling that would be easy enough to fix with a little bit of time and attention.

It was dark outside, and the only lights in the room now were the lights from the doorway and the light coming from the television screen. But it was still enough to see that Jay's boxers were purple cotton, with a little pattern printed on them that he couldn't quite make out. "What's on your boxers?"

"What?" Jay blinked a few times. It was taking him an extra-long time to process the question as he looked down at Mike from his perch, and then down at his crotch to double-check. "Oh, um. Little black cats, I think?"

"Figures," Mike said. He stroked down the front of Jay's boxers with the back of his index finger and was rewarded with a little twitch of Jay's hips. Mike couldn't resist teasing him a little bit. "That feel good?"

Jay nodded with closed eyes, biting his lower lip like he didn't trust his voice to cooperate and therefore needed to keep his mouth closed.

"Thought so," Mike purred. "You needed attention, didn't you? You were tired of waiting for me to get a fucking clue, so you took matters into your own hands." He grabbed for the head of Jay's cock through his boxers, feeling it fatten rapidly in his grasp. "Well. My hands."

"Fuck," Jay groaned as Mike tugged at him. 

Mike marveled at how quickly Jay was fully hard again, the fabric of his boxers already growing a little slick. He wanted to gently tease Jay about how this was probably his first time, about how no one had ever touched him here before, but it felt too cruel for the moment. Jay was trusting him with this, and he couldn't fuck it up.

"How long have you wanted this?" He could ask that, at least, probably.

"Don't know. Years. Since we met. I don't know, Mike, please--"

"Me too," Mike said, and it was true.

He knew what Jay was begging for. He didn't need to say it. When he pulled Jay's boxers down, Jay moaned at the feeling of the cool break room air hitting his skin. The head of his cock was glistening in the pink and purple light of the synthwave music video on the TV screen. He looked down to watch as Mike stroked his slit with his index finger, and shuddered as a shining string of pre-come trailed off onto Mike's finger when he brought it to his own lips to taste it.  
It didn't quite taste exactly like kettle corn, but it wasn't too bad. Jay whimpered as Mike took him in hand again. 

The size really was perfect, he thought to himself. Maybe four and a half inches at most. Mike wrapped his palm and fingers around it and started stroking in earnest.

"M-Mike--fuck, I'm going to come really fast if you don't stop," Jay panted.

"It's okay," Mike said gently. He slid his hand that had been on Jay's hip to his back, curling around him and trying to pull him closer. He needed Jay closer. "You can come. Don't worry about my shirt."

"It's not that, it's just--fuck." Jay fell forward onto Mike's chest, arching his back to leave room for Mike's rapidly-moving hand as he threw his arms around Mike's shoulders, burying his face in Mike's neck. "I don't want it to be over."

"It'll never be over," Mike murmured into Jay's ear, breathy and soft.

After he said this, he realized it sounded like something a horror movie slasher would say, but Jay seemed to take it as Mike meant it--a declaration of his undying devotion, endless love, et cetera. Or the creepy slasher aspect did it for him, or maybe both things were true, because a few seconds later, Jay was groaning wordlessly into Mike's neck and spilling hot wetness all over Mike's navy blue work shirt. 

He kept stroking him through it until Jay was shuddering with oversensitivity and pulled his hips back far enough to wiggle out of Mike's hand. Mike wiped his hand off onto his shirt, since it was already covered in come, and then wrapped both arms around Jay, who was curling up against his chest, beard tickling at Mike's skin.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Mike could feel Jay's heart beating through their shirts, his breath warm on his neck. All of him was warm, actually, especially the heat trapped between their bodies.

After a while, Jay started to grope around for Mike's cock, which was still half-hard in his buttoned-up pants.

"It's okay," Mike said softly. "You don't have to."

"I want to," Jay said. He pressed a tentative kiss to Mike's neck, just below his ear, making Mike shiver. “I really want to.”

"Tell you what," Mike said. A new and devious plan to keep Jay near him tonight was starting to form in his brain, because parting now seemed like it would be painfully difficult for both of them. "Come home with me. I'll order pizza. You can, um. Stay, if you want."

Mike's devious plan went off without a hitch, and so they never spent a night apart again for the rest of their very long, very happy lives.

**Author's Note:**

> let's be friends, follow me on twitter!!! @HRHSherlock


End file.
